


Peace

by Lynse



Series: Touched [6]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Cameos, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, One-Shot, Sequel, Spiritual, minor use of other characters, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynse/pseuds/Lynse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the glimmer of light you can see through the trees is exactly what you expect it to be. Sometimes, it isn’t. Somehow, Jack wasn’t quite prepared for either possibility. Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/806775"><i>Trust</i></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This story would likely take place sometime later during the same winter as _Trust_ , however counterintuitive that seems when you look at the story characters I’ve listed…. Standard disclaimers apply, of course.

“Jack!”

Jack Frost didn’t even blink, all too aware that his name was a common one. He wouldn’t say that there wasn’t still a flicker of hope that flared in his chest for a brief, shining moment when he heard someone calling his name, but he’d gotten better at ignoring it. New believers rarely realized immediately who he was, and he knew the voice of each and every child who did believe in him, and that wasn’t one of them.

So, as always, Jack kept on doing what he was doing—in this case, swooping down in a swirl of snow to add a bit more frost to the trees. To be perfectly honest, he couldn’t remember precisely where he was at the moment. Somewhere in the country. Which country, well, he couldn’t say. Even now, geography wasn’t his strongpoint. In fact, he’d _almost_ say that this was some place he’d never been before, but he knew better. 

He’d covered a lot of ground in his three hundred odd years, even daring to stray into the hottest places in the world. He might not have stayed long, but he’d certainly gone there. And of the places he frequented more often, he’d seen how easily they could change. How often they _did_ change. 

Nothing stayed the same forever.

“Ja-ack!”

Jack alighted on a reaching tree branch and surveyed his work and the ground that lay stretched out like a canvas before him. It was already blanketed with his snow, thick and powdery on its surface, but if he firmed it up a bit, added a bit more ice there, he could—

“Jack!”

He wished the other Jack would answer. It was almost painful to hear his name cried repeatedly like that, especially since, if he listened long enough, he could almost convince himself that he recognized the caller’s voice. He knew he didn’t, of course. But his heart didn’t always listen, and it wanted him to answer.

But there was no point in it, for the voice would just keep calling regardless. It was dark out now, too late for little ones to be playing outside by themselves. But the child’s house must be around somewhere, and he was sure the boy would be found soon.

He’d stick around for a time, though. He wanted to be certain of that. If the other Jack did not turn up soon, he would have to join the search. This didn’t feel like something Pitch was responsible for—quite the contrary to the tingling sense of danger Jack now associated with the Nightmare King, he felt perfectly safe and strangely _at home_ , more than he ever had since he’d become Jack Frost—but that didn’t make the dangers of winter any less.

Jack sighed and leapt down, weaving through the trees, thinking he might find a better place to lay down a thick sheet of ice for the children to play upon come morning. After all, there were children here. This Jack, for one. And the voice calling for him sounded young enough to partake in the fun, if too old to know its bringer.

_There_. A break in the trees up ahead. A clearing. Shining from within it, a faint light. Likely as not, a beacon from young Jack’s home. He could, perhaps, make a good sledding track in the yard. All he had to do was—

“ _Jack Frost_!”

Jack froze.

This was for two reasons, the second one being that his mind had just registered the fact that the voice had now undoubtedly called him by his name.

The first one was because he was suddenly met with the most bizarre sight—and he had seen _many_ bizarre sights in his time—and because as impossible as that sight was, he had heard of it before.

And that just made it more impossible still.

There was a light up ahead, yes, but it certainly wasn’t blazing from a window.

Slowly, carefully, afraid that he’d wake up from what must surely be a dream— _when was the last time Sandy had specifically sought to give him a dream, especially one of this calibre?_ —he picked his way forward. The snow, harder here under the influence of the harsh wind and without the soft flakes he’d been spreading earlier, crunched underfoot. He pushed aside an evergreen branch, ignoring the sudden fall of snow he got for his trouble, and stepped fully out into the clearing.

The moon was hidden behind clouds this night. It was one of the nights where Sandy’s work was especially important, for sweet dreams were needed to fend off nightmares when the moon’s guarding rays were blocked out. But the dark of the night somehow seemed suddenly _less_ dark here, and Jack wondered how he could have possibly missed seeing this from above. 

Jack stepped into the golden light and, as soon as he was near enough, reached out his staff. It touched the lamp post— _the lamp post, in the middle of a forest!_ —with a dull clang, and frost patterns immediately snaked outwards and turned it a soft, glistening white.

Footsteps behind him now, the desperate searcher finally reaching him at last, likely following the same general path he had taken—although theirs would have been a more difficult journey, being all on foot.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

Jack turned.

It was Susan, but not as he had last seen her. She was young. Younger, anyway, if older than a child. But her eyes were bright, and they sparkled just as they always had. Nestled in her hair was a delicate golden crown, looking for all the world as if the branches and flowers of a tree made from gold itself had been woven together for its creation. She was dressed in rich, beautiful but comfortable-looking clothes that complemented her royal bearing at last. She wasn’t dressed for winter, exactly, but aside from rosy cheeks, she didn’t appear cold, and she wasn’t out of breath in the slightest.

But she wouldn’t be, if this was the dream it must be.

Susan smiled, as she always did when she saw him, and the night brightened into day. “Hello again, Jack.”

Jack offered her a smile in return, but it was a rather weak one for him. She was dead. This was just a dream, something surely proven by time’s fleetingness. It wasn’t real. It was, if anything, one of Sandy’s creations. Perhaps the Sandman thought he had been overtaxing himself, that he ought to rest. But this wasn’t the dream he wanted. Yes, he was thrilled to see Susan again, to see her like this, but….

But it wasn’t real, and because he knew that, he couldn’t enjoy it. He was rather afraid that he might wake if he did.

Susan’s smile changed to a slight frown. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

Jack hesitated. Then, “You’re not…real,” he said at last. “You’re dead.”

“I’m dead,” Susan agreed, “and so are you, but that doesn’t make either of us less real, does it?” And before he could blink, she’d wrapped her arms tightly around him, and he could feel….

He could feel _her_ , as if it _were_ real. As if she _were_ hugging him, as she always had before. She felt strong and warm and utterly alive. Her faith burned brightly, filling him with that light, fluttery feeling, and he could feel how happy she was to see him again and how much she loved him as if he were the family she hadn’t seen for years on end, and—

He didn’t want it to end, even if it wasn’t real, because at that moment, it _felt_ real.

Jack wasn’t sure how long it was before he had wrapped his arms around Susan as well, nor how long they stood like that, relishing being together again. “I’m here,” Susan whispered eventually. “You’re here. Can we not enjoy the moment while it lasts?”

Jack pulled away. “How long do we have?”

A small laugh escaped Susan. “Oh, Jack, that’s not the question to ask. It doesn’t matter how long we have. It matters how we spend the time.” She held out her hand. “Come, let me show you Narnia.”

“But…. But Narnia’s gone.”

“The Narnia I told you about in my stories is gone,” Susan corrected, “but Narnia’s true heart is here.”

“But if this isn’t _that_ Narnia, then how am I—?”

“Hush. Be at peace, Jack. You needn’t ask so many questions.”

Her hand was still outstretched, so Jack finally took it. The moment his fingers had closed around hers, she took off running. He ran with her. It was…. Well, it was as in a dream, he supposed—the good sort of dream where you can run and run and never tire, no matter how fast you go. It was a joyous run, rather like flying, but…different, somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it. But however quickly they ran, he didn’t fear running _into_ anything—something he knew from early attempts at flying could be quite painful indeed at the speeds they were going.

Perhaps it was having Susan as his guide. Or perhaps it was just because…because there was somehow no need to fear that.

It was a whirlwind tour, with Susan pointing out all the places she had named in her stories and many more besides. Beaversdam and Cair Paravel. The Great River and its offshoots, including the place it met the River Rush at the Fords of Beruna. She showed him everything from the Eastern Sea to the Western Wilds, everything south of Ettinsmoor and north of the forked head of Mount Pire and the entrance into Archenland. 

She showed him her home, her country, the land in which her stories had their root.

Jack wasn’t sure when winter had melted into spring, when the grass had become green or the trees bursting with leaves, nor when the air had begun to smell so sweet.

A part of him wondered if it had always smelled like that and he simply hadn’t noticed before.

They had paused in a meadow, nothing of note, nothing he knew to be of importance from Susan’s stories, but it was a quiet place. A beautiful place.

As he watched, buds burst into flower around them.

The wind was warm— _a summer wind_ , a part of his mind whispered as new flowers replaced withering ones—and it felt positively lovely.

“This seems…peaceful,” Jack said at last. “Quiet, and…and nice.”

“It’s one kind of peace,” Susan agreed, “but there are many. Would you like to see another?”

Jack grinned and took her proffered hand, and they were off.

They stopped this time in front of a roaring waterfall, where the River Narnia thundered into Caldron Pool before continuing its wandering path to the Eastern Sea.

It was a raw beauty, a terrifying one, and quite the opposite of ‘nice and quiet’. 

Yet this felt peaceful, too.

“Let’s look closer,” Susan said, wading into the water without a second glance at him. Jack followed behind, freezing a path and walking on ice rather than trying to step in with her. He didn’t quite trust himself at the moment.

Then again, this was just a dream….

Wasn’t it?

Susan’s path took them right by the great cataract, and for a moment, Jack couldn’t see for mist. It was wet, of course, but not nearly as cold as he’d expected from previous experience freezing over falls. And then Susan had touched his arm and was pointing, and as he blinked away the water and squinted through the dancing rainbows, he could see a cluster of flowers growing there, right out of the rock, petals bright and glistening with water droplets. Despite the seemingly harsh conditions, they looked to be thriving. 

Another touch on the arm, and Susan directed Jack’s attention to something else, a bit farther away from the waterfall still, where the cliff hung over a narrow finger of land.

On that rocky ground grew a tree.

In that tree, there was a nest.

Despite all the inherent difficulties of the situation, despite the noise and the risks, some birds had decided that the best place for their nest was right here. He could just imagine how the mother bird would protect her young ones when a storm raged across the land, cleansing it, making them feel at home and feel safe in spite of their slight exposure to the elements….

That nest, Jack realized, was the first sign he’d seen of any animals here—of _anyone_ else here, in fact, besides him and Susan.

Yes, this was Narnia, even if it was a dream-Narnia of some sort, and he had expected to see animals, and certainly more animals than humans, but he hadn’t questioned their absence until now. He opened his mouth to do just that, but Susan had already taken his hand and waded to shore. “There’s one more place you should see,” she said.

Perhaps now wasn’t the right time to ask.

Rather than question anything, Jack simply said, “Lead on.”

Susan stopped running when they reached a door.

It was a strange sight to see—stranger, perhaps, than that of a lit lamp post in a forest. But while Lantern Waste felt part of Narnia, had indeed _been_ part of Narnia since its creation, this…this felt different. It was a roughly hewn wooden door, and it stood alone on a grassy hilltop.

And it was covered in ice.

Stranger still, Jack could _feel_ the biting cold radiating off of it. Him, even from where he stood an arm’s length away! It chilled him deeper than anything ever had since….

Since the lake.

The lake, and his last memory of his previous life….

“This is Stable Hill,” Susan said quietly.

“I don’t remember this story,” Jack murmured, eyes tracing the patterns in the ice that coated the door. They weren’t quite like anything he had ever drawn.

“That’s because this will be the first time you’ll hear it,” Susan said. “I didn’t know it myself until I came here.” She tugged him away from the door, away from the unnerving chill that surrounded it, and sat down in the grass at the foot of the hill in the shade of a tree. Jack followed suit, absently noting that the tree’s leaves were a brilliant red, redder than anything he could remember seeing before—just like everything else here seemed to be richer, more vibrant and alive and somehow deeper than anything in his world.

But that, he assumed, was because it was a dream. Things always seemed so very real in dreams, even if they felt surreal at the same time.

“Close your eyes, Jack. It’ll be one more story, just like old times. I had told you of Narnia’s creation, but someone must be able to tell the tale of its end.”

It was a simple request, and Jack saw no reason not to comply. Because now that he was farther away from the doorway, the quiet feeling of peace had returned. Everything felt _right_. And safe, and content, and….

Susan’s story had begun, the words softly spoken as always. He let the words wash over him, losing himself in her story for one last, special time. Because even if this was a dream, it felt real. And that’s what mattered right now, for he could hear the end of the story at last.

It was one thing to know the story had ended.

It was quite another to know _how_ it had ended. 

_“In the last days of Narnia, far up to the west beyond Lantern Waste and close beside the great waterfall, there lived an Ape….”_

Jack wasn’t sure when he first became aware of the fact that Susan was not alone in telling the story.

It had been a gradual thing, he was sure. One voice had joined hers, then another, and then, quite before he was aware of it, Susan had become the narrator and each character in the story was voiced by someone else. But it was not until Susan’s voice had faded away for the last time on a line that Jack knew was the story’s end that he opened his eyes and sat up. 

The crowd gathered around them seemed, at first glance, endless.

But that didn’t stop him from recognizing people he’d never met before.

Sitting on either side of Susan, her brothers. At her feet, her sister. Next to Edmund, two who were unmistakably Eustace and Jill, looking perhaps the most like the photographs he’d seen of them. By Peter’s side…. Digory Kirke, if he had to guess, and Polly Plummer, both changed as much from the pictures he’d seen of them as Susan herself had since he’d last seen her. And beyond them….

Beyond them, and all around him, _Narnians_. Tumnus the Faun and Reepicheep the Mouse. Puzzle the Donkey and Jewel the Unicorn. Other Talking Beasts or creatures he’d never seen on Earth. A number of kings and queens he didn’t recognize, but a pair he rather suspected might be King Frank and Queen Helen. Scattered amongst the Narnians, people he realized came from other countries, and—

Jack heard a laugh, and long before he’d finished drinking in the sight around him, he had a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him and he found himself staring at a delicate silver crown, not unlike Susan’s gold one. _Lucy_. “Thank you for helping Susan,” she said, squeezing him fiercely. Then, in a voice he was sure reached only his ears, “I think you’ve helped her more than you know.”

“We never did really give up on her,” Edmund added as Lucy drew back. “Just like the others never really gave up on me.”

“We just weren’t sure how to keep her,” Peter admitted, slinging an arm around his oldest sister, “when she was so desperate to get away.”

“So they let me go,” Susan concluded softly. “There was nothing else for it. I had to go before I could find my way back here and find peace.”

“The Queen Susan needed to teach others in her world of me before she left it.”

The new voice came from behind Jack. It sent a shiver down his spine, for while he _knew_ he had never heard _that_ voice before, it still sounded familiar.

Much like Susan’s had.

But this voice was unmistakable. Its quality, its timbre, the power it held…. He wouldn’t mistake that, surely. And it wasn’t something he would forget…was it?

Jack turned quickly and, rather clumsily, bowed. “Aslan,” he breathed. Although he’d only caught a fleeting glimpse of tawny gold blazing in the light of a sinking westward sun, the impression that he was left with, while indescribable, was enough to ensure that he kept his head down, not daring to take a second look at the great creature which had been woven throughout all of Susan’s stories.

As much as he wanted to look, to stare, he was too…. Not _terrified_ , exactly, for all that he knew Aslan was not a tame lion, but…awestruck, perhaps.

Because this felt the most real of all, for all that in his brief moment of turning about all others but he, Susan, her siblings, and Aslan seemed to have melted away as unnoticeably as they had come.

“Rise up, Son of Adam,” the Lion said, and Jack hastily straightened up, though he couldn’t seem to loosen his grip on his staff so that his knuckles weren’t whiter than normal. “And you, Kings and Queens of Narnia.” As soon as the others had done so, they rushed forward to embrace Aslan, and Jack was struck by how…peaceful they looked, hands and faces buried in the mane of the great yet terrifying beast.

“You will remember all that you have been told here?” Aslan asked. “You will repeat it yourself to the children you guard?”

Jack nodded, and when he finally trusted himself to speak, he croaked, “Yes. Yes, everything. Of course. This and everything from before. I promised Susan the same, and time won’t take away the truth of my words.” Jack hesitated. “But…. Aslan, if I may. My family….”

“I tell no one any story but his own, dear one,” Aslan said, his voice kind but firm enough that Jack didn’t dare argue. “But you need not fear, for they are with me in the world that is most familiar to them. Keep faith.”

“Goodbye, Jack.” Susan’s voice, accompanied by a squeeze on his hand. But Jack didn’t have time to say something back to her for the same moment he caught her eye and saw the wide smile on her face, he felt Aslan’s gentle breath on his face and his eyes closed of their own accord.

He opened them again immediately, but when he did, night had returned, and he was gliding towards the treetops on a downwind, surrounded by a swirl of snow.

Jack frosted the trees almost automatically until he spotted a good perch. Once there, he crouched on the tree branch, searching both himself and the sky for any sign of Sandy’s work.

There were no telltale remnants of Dreamsand to be found, no flecks of gold on him or dissipating ribbons against the clouds that would have blended into a starry sky.

Jack knew, then, of another kind of peace, the kind Susan had surely meant for him to see: that loved ones never are truly gone.

He’d known that before, on some level. He’d thought it himself. But he hadn’t quite understood it, and it meant that he’d still been grieving and pining away instead of celebrating the life that had been. It was right to mourn, but not to stop living, to stop being. He should have been more for knowing someone, not less because of their absence.

He’d known of the peace that was tied to tranquility, something that he could sometimes spread himself on crisp winter mornings when the sun rose to illuminate a world blanketed in pure, sparkling white. He’d seen the peace that survived in spite of horrors around it, the type that could be as innocent as a child’s game in the midst of arguing parents or as treasured as a Christmas celebration in No Man’s Land between the trenches. But this….

This was an inner peace, something that calmed the turmoil of his mind. His worries, his doubts, his fears…. They were soothed. Perhaps he was here, and perhaps he may not have the chance to see his family again—not while he was needed here, anyway—but they were in good hands. They were happy. They were together. And they knew the task he had been given, surely. They knew how much good he could do here and how much he had already done.

They would be proud of him.

They always _had_ been proud of him, even when his antics had exasperated them, because they….

Jack, suddenly not trusting himself, sat down so that he was straddling the tree branch.

_He remembered_.

It wasn’t just snatches of memories, pieces he’d stitched together to figure out his own story. He didn’t just remember parts, hardly anything more than the memories that had been stored in his baby teeth. He remembered _everything_ , as if he’d never forgotten it—never forgotten _them_ , his own family—in the first place.

Someone other than Tooth had helped Susan when she’d done her best to leave Narnia behind her forever, and now he had been helped, too. 

_“I tell no one any story but his own.”_

There had been more in Aslan’s breath than the power that had sent him back into his own world.

Jack wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staff balanced on the branch in front of him, thinking back on what had once been and feeling utterly _grateful_. He did know, however, that it was some time _after_ that that he realized he’d been granted another sort of inner peace because he was no longer at war with himself. He was no longer trying to make himself remember what he could not, nor hating the part of himself that couldn’t.

Jack slid off the branch and darted through the trees. When he saw a light up ahead, glimmering faintly but unmistakably on this moonless night, his heart caught in his throat.

It couldn’t be….

Eagerly, with the help of an extra push from the wind, Jack burst into the clearing and found himself staring at the source of the light.

It came from a lamp that blazed steadily behind a window pane, and Jack felt his heart twist again as he realized where he was: in the woods behind Susan’s old house.

Someone else had, at last, taken up residence.

He moved forward slowly and began to frost the windows as he had so many times before. He saved the lit window for last. And before his breath could frost up the window pane, he looked inside and saw the new residents.

One of them was a child, a little girl who, as if she had felt his eyes upon her, turned her head to look back at him.

_Right_ at him.

And Jack Frost smiled.


End file.
